


New Beginnings

by SharpenTheSoul



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: After Season 8, F/M, Post-Canon, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, not anti anything
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-23 03:54:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 15,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30049533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SharpenTheSoul/pseuds/SharpenTheSoul
Summary: Jon Snow founds a new community beyond the Wall, now a lush valley of plenty. In trying to get the new start he desperately wants after so much death and destruction, will he find peace? Love, even? It's hard to say, for soon the ugly heads of war begin to rear.
Relationships: Jon Snow/Val
Comments: 70
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is my first work in the Jon Snow/Val fandom. I've always liked Val and thought she was a good choice for a character for Jon to get together with eventually. I have to admit to being nervous since I've written a lot of Jon/Sansa fics, but I wanted to sink my teeth into something else. 
> 
> I wanted to thank the user kebabeater1(https://archiveofourown.org/users/kebabeater1) for giving me inspiration to do this from their story "House of the Dragon"(https://archiveofourown.org/works/25737964/chapters/62500084) I have not of course, copied and pasted from that story and my story will be different from theirs, but I took inspiration for a few things from there! 
> 
> I hope you guys enjoy. I may add other tags and ships as the story goes on.

“When we had word of the massive caravan traveling North, I had thought it unrelated to you, Jon.” Sansa said, looking somewhat amused. “Imagine my surprise when word comes that you lead this...procession.”

Jon shrugged. “I am always one for surprises.” he quipped. Though, in truth, he was as surprised as she had been.

The terms of his exile had been clear – back to the wall with the oath-breaking kinslayer. Travel by boat – the original plan for him – was deemed too risky due to the massive amount of wreckage still to be cleared in the Blackwater Bay. So, he and his escort took the Kingsroad.

Almost right away, the first of the caravan had joined.

Smallfolk and commoners of all types; old men, young women with babes nursing at their breasts. Families. Orphaned children, left homeless and hungry by the myriad wars that had plagued Westeros for so many years.

By the time that they had crossed the Neck his group had swelled from a few dozen leaving with him from King's Landing to almost five thousand. He had spoken to them as they travelled – the first group that left with him had heard of his plans to go North, he had assumed.

The rest had joined through word of mouth, he imagined. Those seeking new lives or an escape from the pain and misery that their existence brought. It was the common people who were the true victims, Jon had come to realize not even one week into his trek.

While the high lords played at games of power, of subversion, of intrigue and of land grabs, it was the common people who suffered. It was they who were forced to tend their lords' fields and provide them with crops while they starved. It was them and their sons that were forced to fight and die in this war and that one, and their daughters and mothers who fell victim to the lecherous gazes of many a lord's son.

He'd promised them a new start.

The Wall was practically worthless, now – the Night's Watch had decreed they would remain at the Shadow Tower and leave Castle Black abandoned, permitting all who wished to travel further north to do so without complaint.

Where else to get a new start? Even in King's Landing, word was that the lands beyond the Wall were now melting, exposing a vast territory untouched by men for thousands upon thousands of years. Lush valleys and forests. _A new home._

Now that they were passing by Winterfell, however, Jon had to speak with Sansa – the newly minted Queen in the North. She looked regal atop her white horse, her gown a grey and white mixture of furs. The direwolf of Stark flew proudly behind her as part of her honour guard.

* * *

He'd told her about their plans – to go north. She had told him some news also; Tormund and the free folk remained at Castle Black, planning to winter there. That was pleasant news; Tormund and Ghost were waiting. His family – along with the thousands of new family he had passing by now; on foot, in wagons or carts or occasionally on horseback.

Opening her mouth, Sansa prepared to speak – until a rider galloped up next to Jon.

“M'lord, the rear is comin' up. We're almost crossed.” The man was large, with a bald head and a rough looking face. He smiled easily at Jon, however.

“Thank you, Clem.” Jon said, patting him on the shoulder. “Ah, some introductions; Clement, please meet my sis – cousin, Sansa Stark, First of Her Name, Queen of Winter. Clement has been part of my little migration since King's Landing.”

Clement bowed his head low. “Tis a great honour, Your Grace.”

“The honor is mine, Clement.” Sansa replied, granting him a nod of respect. “You and your people must be tired after such a long journey, I must imagine.”

Looking to Jon before he spoke – who encouraged him with a nod – Clement shook his head. “Actually, Your Grace, we're excited. Thrilled, really. We've a chance to start again. Sure, 'tis risky but when you've got nothin' left, it's good to take risks.”

“I wish you all the best. Truly.” she replied, her eyes glancing to the columns of people.

“Go on, Clem.” Jon gestured, “I'll rejoin the group in a moment.”

* * *

With that, he galloped off, leaving Jon with Sansa and her guard. For what felt like an age, no one spoke. There was much he wished to say – to ask her – but Jon did not know how to begin. _Why did you lie to me? Why did you tell him?_

He had wondered since the day he'd driven a knife into Daenerys's heart – if Sansa had not broken her vow, would she have still done what she did? Would she have rained down hellfire upon King's Landing and its people? Would she have shed any kindness and optimism of the future for a barely-concealed rage?

Some part of him wanted to believe that yes, she would have been different. She would not have succumbed to the anger within. That it was his fault for being naive and stupid, for trusting family who could not trust him. But, he also knew, that it was easily possible that even without the truth she would have fallen.

Yet the sight of Sansa before him; every bit a Queen, filled Jon with a bitter taste in his mouth. Was it jealousy? No, the North was a free and independent kingdom – something he'd wanted for a long time, also. She was a capable ruler, far better then he'd ever been.

But she'd lied to him, kept secrets and manipulated events – key events – that saw all of this play out. Still, Sansa was family. Even if Jon felt that bitterness and anger towards her, he could not hate her for what she did.

“I know what you want to say, Jon.” Sansa said, riding up closer to him. “You've every right to hate me.”

Jon shook his head. So be it. “I told you in King's Landing, I do not hate you.”

“I can see it in your eyes.” she replied. “yet I knew Daenerys and those around her. I figured the best way to ensure your safety – and that of the North – was to have your identity out in the open. Not a secret to hang over anyone's head.”

It was hard to believe her, Jon realized. How do I know she is not lying to me right now? Everything with Sansa was a mind-game, he knew. She had spent far too long among the very high lords and their constant lies and squabbles to be honest. “What's done is done, Sansa.” he said, offering a gentle smile – as much of one as he could. “We are where we are.”

A neutral answer, but the best one he could give honestly about the situation. Sansa seemed to know that; she reached out with a gloved hand, putting it on his own. “Be safe out there. Do you hear me?” she whispered, her voice cracking slightly.

Jon felt his eyes starting to water. No matter how he'd felt about Sansa's decisions of late, she was still his family. He'd thrown himself into the pits of the seven hells to avenge the brutality and torture she'd suffered at the hands of monsters now long-dead. They had shared the triumphs and bruises together in that journey.

“Your Grace.” he said, bowing his head. The beginning of tears formed in his eyes as he bowed his head and commanded his horse to turn back towards the column.

As he galloped away from the gates, he turned his gaze back to Winterfell and the memories – both good and bad – that lay within. It would always have a special place in his heart, no matter where the future took him, and nothing could take that away.

The memories of Robb and him playing in the courtyard, throwing snowballs at each other. Their lessons with Ser Rodrik, or how they would tease Theon or play pranks on Sansa with a young Arya by their side.

Of spending time with their lord father – uncle in his case – as he polished the greatsword Ice under the heart tree in the godswood.

Perhaps one day, Jon thought, he could make memories like that in his new home.

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

“Seems like no matter where ya go, you can't help but find followers!” japed Tormund, slapping his shoulder with a hearty laugh. “Now ya even got more o'yer own kneelers to see to!”

Jon snickered in response as the pair watched the migration pass through the gates of Castle Black. His reunion with the free folk had gone as expected – joyous shouts and cheering greeting them as the gates to the keep were opened.

Some of the new followers he had were wary, perhaps frightened of the wildlings. There was some tension right away, but Tormund and Jon had quelled it with the help of the combat-trained followers in Jon's caravan.

As for the lands beyond the Wall – it was just as beautiful as he'd heard about in the south now.

Gone was the oppressive gloom of the dead and decayed forests. The permanently frozen ground was now moist and free of snow, with wet grass now poking its way up from the thousands of years of snow and ice.

The air was now breezy and gentle, and the harsh biting winds he'd come to know were a distant memory. It would seem that destroying the Others had somehow caused the lands here to begin to return to what they had been so long ago.

“These people want a new start like us, Tormund.” Jon said as he looked out over the new land before him. “I figure that if we work together, we can create something...lasting, for us all. As I told the caravan, we're all free folk now.”

“Hah!” the big man beamed. “That we are, my little crow. That we are!”

“You too, boy.” Jon looked down to where Ghost sat, staring up at him. Reuniting with his companion was even sweeter then he'd thought – it was then that he'd let the tears flow, for the first time in months. He'd almost cried when he said goodbye to Sansa, but the wolf was a part of him and had been since he was a younger man.

He would never let Ghost leave his side again, he had vowed.

* * *

“That reminds me! HEY! VAL!” Tormund shouted, gesturing over to some of the free folk watching the procession. A woman on horseback galloped her way over, pausing before them. “This is Val, spearwife an' one of the finest fighters that the free folk ever had.”

The first thing Jon noted about her was her pale grey eyes and long blonde hair – which was braided and thrown over one shoulder. She wore all white, which would have made her blend into the previous environment quite well.

“No need for introductions, Tormund.” she said, her voice musical with a hint of amusement. “All of the folk know who you are, Jon Snow. You're almost a god, at least to some of the more...dim ones around her.” She flashed him a smile, which belayed the ferocity in her face. _This woman is a predator_ , he thought.

“Never claimed to be a god.” Jon shook his head, unable to stop from smirking.

“No god has a pecker as small as you!” Tormund laughed again.

Val rolled her eyes. “I think Tormund says that to hide his own failings, Lord Crow.”

That drew a laugh from Jon as Tormund let out a sorrowful moan, exaggerated but loud enough to draw the eyes of some of the caravan.

“You wound me, spearwife!” he lamented.

Quick as a flash, Val drew a small bone dagger and held it up to his beard. “Careful, Tormund – next time I will do more then wound.”

Val was definitely a free woman, Jon noted. She moved with a grace that hid her true nature – of a warrior and a fighter. “Alright, you two. Let's not kill each other until we've found a good place to settle.” he said with a snicker.

Both of them grinned. “No promises, Lord Crow.” she replied, sliding her dagger back into its sheath.

“Bah, King Crow knows me.” Tormund slapped Jon on the shoulder, “now, let's see to the rest of our new friends an' start off.”

“Do we have any ideas where to go?” Jon asked. The lands beyond the Wall were large – and the only settlement he'd known of was Hardhome, now considered a cursed place to the free folk. There would be no settling there, and he knew that for sure.

“I sent out some scouts a few days ago when I heard ya were comin'. Place is as green as any o'those southern forests, I promise ya.” he replied with a big grin. “Some o'the folk will want to resettle the old villages – the ones they lived in afore Mance called 'em away.”

Jon nodded. “I am sure some of the caravan will want to join them. Start putting down roots, as it were. There are lots of types who've come North with us.” The caravan was as diverse as it was large, he knew. Farmers, cooks, soldiers, tanners, blacksmiths, stewards – they were all there, all plunging into the unknown to start a new life.

Tormund smiled. “No free man will turn away good help!”

“Jon, tha's the last of 'em.” Clement rode up next to him, gesturing to the great gate. The stream of people and wagons had stopped. “We're ready to go when you are.”

Urging his horse forward Jon galloped to the front of the massive procession, now just mingling around in the empty field that once marked the start to the Haunted Forest. _I suppose a speech would do_ , he thought.

“My friends.” he said, as all eyes went to him. “Out here is a whole new world. A whole new way of life – one where we are not bound to the high lords and their games. From this moment on, we are all free folk – and we do not kneel!”

A cheer went up from the crowd. “Now, let's go build it together!”

* * *


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so here is a rather crappy map showing the location of the settlements as I believe them to be! I suck at editing so forgive the mistakes(just zoom in if the resolution sucks again my apologies) 
> 
> https://i.imgur.com/wSgibzj.png

“This wagon is ready!” Jon said to the driver. “Remember, it goes to New Thenn down by the Gorge. They should have some bronze for us in turn!”

The driver nodded. “Aye, m'lord. Won't take too long!” With a crack of the reigns the wagon pulled off, heading out toward the south.

It had been six months since Jon had lead the caravan in departing from Castle Black and into the new world that waited beyond the Wall. With the Others gone, the land was in a healthy and bright spring, with it springing to life after thousands of years of icy oppression.

As Tormund had predicted along the way, some of the caravan had separated. At first it was mostly Free Folk who wanted to return to their old villages and hamlets, but some of Jon's followers had gone with them; after all, every village needed strong backs and smart folk to survive.

By the time they had reached their ultimate settlement – the valley beneath the Fist of the First Men – Jon estimated that perhaps a thousand, if not more,had broken off from the group. That still left a great many to found their new home.

The area where they settled what was now called Hopeton was a perfect spot. The Milkwater flowed to the west, allowing for easy access to fresh water. They had built the walls of Hopeton to allow for the river to flow in the town, and it was thankfully an easy job.

From there, several structures had been put up in the last six months. A great longhall where the town council met – Jon had insisted on a council when almost everyone wanted him to rule them alone – along with a smithy(fairly primitive by southern standards, but still functional all the same), two small granaries, a garden for crops and a fresh plot of land for the grazing animals. A small copper deposit was found in a cave located in the cliff-side, so a primitive mining operation had also begun.

Aside from that, there were plenty of other buildings being built around the town, all at their own pace. Still, Jon knew that most people would be living in tents or makeshift wagon shelters,as there was no way to house all the thousands of people within the walls – but that suited most of the people just fine. Great rows of tents stretched all the way north, as children played, elders sang and men and women worked.

It wasn't long before trade had been established with the new settlements formed from those who had broken off. New Thenn was, obviously, made up of the surviving Thenns who had wished to found their own home. They still needed supplies, of course, so a system of trade was set up between all of the outposts.

As of last count, there were six outposts not including Hopeton, with the largest being New Forktop, standing at some eight hundred inhabitants. Each one produced its own resources that were used by the others; from Hopeflower Keep's medicinal flowers to Circleton's ample supply of timber to Gorol's Fishery and it's fish.

“Ser Jon!” called Clement as he rushed over. Since the founding of Hopeton, Clement had become captain of its guard; made up of around three hundred men and women charged with keeping the peace and protecting the town.

Clem was a reliable and good man; Jon felt that their community was blessed to have someone as dedicated to them as him. “Sorry to trouble you but Reese is looking for ya. He says it's urgent.”

Jon nodded; Reese was the town's steward, having served at a castle sworn to House Mallister in the Riverlands. “I'll go see him right now, then. Thanks, Clem.”

Walking towards the longhall, Jon inhaled deeply. The air was clean and crisp; no more intense cold that threatened to freeze your lungs, with every breath now a struggle. This was a close to a paradise as he could ever dream of.

Yet even as everyone worked to build their new home, he still was troubled by the damned nightmares.

He saw himself back in the throne room, holding Daenerys as she breathed her last. Except this time it did not end. Over and over again, he drove the dagger into her heart. He watched her face turn to shock as life left her body.

Did he do the right thing? It still haunted him. He cared for her, loved her and supported her; genuinely believing she would make a better ruler, giving the world some much needed peace. Yet in the end, she had just been more of the same.

_I didn't give her a chance,_ he thought. If he had listened to her – had refused to tell his family of the news Sam gave him – maybe that would have been different? But no, this was something he'd already mulled over again and again.

It wouldn't have mattered.

Jon knew that dwelling on this was not going to help. He was a free man, able to build a new life in a place with people who were not trying to manipulate him for their own ends. He was just Jon – though much to his annoyance, many people still called him 'm'lord', or 'm'lord Jon', much to the laughter of the wildlings – and that was how he liked it.

* * *

To his right, Jon saw movement. Turning to look he watched as Val galloped in, followed by a wagon of women with bronze-tipped spears. The wildling princess, as she was called – much to her annoyance – had offered to train some of the southern women in the arts of combat.

As she dismounted, Jon watched her closely. She was certainly a valued member of their community, with her skills in battle and in quick thinking helping a great deal in solving certain disputes between the southern settlers and the free folk.

“Lord Crow,” she greeted, tying the horse's reigns to a nearby post. “come to see us back?”

Jon shook his head. “Not this time, I'm afraid.” he smiled, “Heading to the longhall to speak with Reese. Still – how is your training?”

The rest of the women were already leaving the wagon, chattering excitedly to themselves.

“Turns out I was wrong, it seems.” she said, coming to stand next to him. “some of the southern maidens have a fierce fighting spirit, just as we do.”

Jon resumed his walk to the longhall as she followed at his side. “I never doubted that.” he approved, “plus it will make some of the men think twice.”

“Once they stop their belly aching about training them, I think they'll be surprised when their daughters and wives are able to hunt better then they.” she smirked.

“Remind me to be there when they are upstaged, then.” he laughed.

* * *

Val looked around as they walked. “Is Tormund back from New Forktop yet?”

“No, Spotted Snake said that he agreed to stay another two days to help them with a hunt.” Jon informed her, “apparently they spotted a shadowcat up in the old trails.”

“Pity,” she shrugged, “I was looking forward to my girls tossing him on his arse.”

After a few moments the pair made it to the longhall. It was a large structure, constructed carefully and with only the strongest materials. There was enough room for at least fifty in the hall, where men and women alike were welcome to sit around the fire pits.

“Care to join us?” Jon asked as he stepped up to the double doors. “I am sure Reese would welcome your advice.” He was teasing, of course; Val had zero interest in sums and accounts.

She laughed, the sound almost musical. “I will pass, Lord Crow. Though – when you are done with your southern accounts, are you not too southern to spar with me again?”

Jon nodded. “Same place?”

“Of course.” Val smirked. “I will make sure there is enough soft ground to cushion you when you are defeated, though.”

He'd sparred with her three times now, always with the spears. Each time she'd beaten him soundly; his skills with the weapon were poor, as he was much more proficient in the use of Longclaw and other blades. Still, the spear was the main weapon of Hopeton, and it would be wise for him to become accustomed to it as the guards and others were.

“One day I will put you on your behind, Val.” he japed.

“Perhaps, but no time soon. Now off with you, Lord Crow.” she shot back, walking away from the hall.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

The longhall was empty at this time of day, the firepits unlit. Jon moved quickly to the end of the hall where another set of doors waited. Two of Clement's guard opened them for him, Jon offering his thanks as he went.

The large circular table in the center of the room was empty save for a rotund man at the far end, writing on a piece of animal-skin parchment.

“Reese, sorry for the delay.” Jon said, walking over to him. “What did you want to see me about?”

Reese was an older man, heavyset and somewhat jowly. He reminded Jon of Janos Slynt in appearance, save for having more weight – and a far more pleasant personality.

“Oh! Lord Jon, wonderful timing.” the man said, standing up from his seat, “I finished my inventory of the lumber as you asked.”

“That was fast, well done!” Jon had asked the man to see to the count in order to better see how their projects were going to be faring. “Do we have enough to begin work on the watchtower on the Fist, then?”

The big man frowned. “Sadly, no. We would've but we had to use some of it to finish the north gate house, if you remember.”

_Damn,_ Jon thought. That was not the news he had wanted – the sooner that they had the supplies to build a proper watch-tower on the Fist itself, the better vantage they would have for the surrounding areas. “I thought the last caravan from Circleton would have been enough to make up for it.” he sighed, “I suppose that was too much to ask.”

“Afraid not, m'lord.” Reese was apologetic as he sunk back into his seat.

“Ah, don't worry about it. We will just have to wait until the next one, I suppose. Have you gone over the food stores?”

Reese nodded, his chin jiggling with the motion. “We're still without problems there, thankfully!” he smiled, taking out another parchment and making a few scrawls, “though some folk are getting tired of the fish stew, it's better then starvin'.”

_I can sympathize there_ , Jon thought. _He_ was tired of fish stew – despite the best efforts of the residents to improve the flavor with 'exotic spices', it was still bland – but it was what helped to sustain the communities until the crops were fully ready for harvest. “They'll get over it. Anything else?”

“Aye, we had a runner from Hopeflower. Said there's more caravans on their way here, can you believe it?” Reese shook his head, “Remarkable thing you've started, m'lord. Absolutely remarkable!”

Since Hopeton's establishment, there had been groups independent of Jon's own that had made their way into the lands here in search of settling with the community. Jon and the town council would turn no one away, and so they had opened their gates to these new settlers.

Having welcomed these newcomers himself, Jon was taken aback by what they had to say. There were folk from as far away as Dorne making the absurdly long trek north to settle here. Apparently, he'd heard that word was spreading fast in the major cities about what they were doing here.

Even still, Jon felt a certain sense of apprehension all the same. Too much attention was not always a good thing; he knew that from experience, of course. Word would reach the ruling powers or prominent high lords in both King's Landing and Winterfell. While he doubted Bran or Sansa would directly act with aggression, their banner-men were another story entirely.

“Was...was there anything else, Reese?” Jon asked, the thoughts still weighing upon him.

“That was all, actually.” Shaking his head, the man returned to his parchments.

Jon made his way back outside, watching as another wagon made its way through the south gate.

He saw the faces of the people as they climbed out; the young and old, both full of hope and excitement at the prospect of a new life.

He wondered where Ghost was; the direwolf loved to hunt down by the river, so it was likely he was there trying to find a rabbit or squirrel, knowing him. It was still good to have him back; missing him was like missing a part of his soul.

A woman carrying a sleeping babe across her shoulder walked up to him. “Gods bless you, m'lord,” she smiled, “we heard about you all the way in King's Landing; we didn't think we would make it but here we are.”

Jon hugged her gently. “Yes, here you are. We've some food over by the tents; there are great pots of fish stew. Just tell the pot masters you are newly arrived.”

* * *

“Fish stew? My favorite!”

_That voice is familiar,_ Jon thought as he turned back towards the wagon, watching as the last of the arrivals hopped down.

Among them was Ser Davos Seaworth. “I hope you saved me some room at the fire, lad!”

Jon rushed forward, taking hold of the man in a bear hug. He'd not seen the Onion Knight since leaving King's Landing – the last he'd heard, the man had accepted a position as Master of Ships on Bran's small council. He could think of no one more suited for the position; Davos was a loyal friend and a good man.

He'd been one of Jon's first supporters back when they worked to defeat House Bolton, in a time that felt almost ancient. “Gods, Davos! I thought I'd never see you again!” Jon exclaimed.

“I'm glad to see you too, lad.” he smiled, tears glistening in his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” It was strange to think that he'd give up his position to come north so soon. “I thought you were Master of Ships on the small council.”

The men walked together away from the wagon, giving the rest of the arrivals some room. “Aye, well it's a long story – but when I heard about Hopeton, I knew I had to be there. I failed you in the capital once -” he frowned, looking to the ground, “- and I wanted to come here to redeem myself if you'll have me.”

“Davos, you didn't fail me at all.” Jon insisted.

“I wish I could have got you a better punishment and all at the council -” he began to say.

“You're a knight among high lords. A...well, a dog among bears. I never blamed you for anything, my friend. I still don't – and I know Hopeton will be glad to have you.” Jon beamed.

He knew he certainly was.

* * *


	5. Chapter 5

Jon thrust the spear high, trying to break through Val's steady defense. “What about your family, Davos?” he asked as she swung right, aiming for his legs. “You mentioned your wife and son back in the Stormlands.”

Davos nodded, watching the pair as they sparred. “Aye, Marya and Dale are going to be making their way up here too. I just got here first, because I grabbed a wagon at King's Landing – they have to travel past the city first. They should be here within a week, maybe two.”

Val grinned as she spun left, swatting away Jon's clumsy attempt at a thrust and smacking her stick into his legs, causing him to topple over with a thud. She held the bronze spear tip to his throat. “Oh no, it looks like you are dead, Lord Crow.”

Jon held up his hands in a mock surrender. No matter how hard he tried, he still could not best Val and her spear. She was able to use the weapon as though it were an extension of her arm, much as he could with Longclaw. Though, Longclaw was no spear – and in comparison he felt as though he were a babe flailing around with a toy when he tried to match her.

“Sorry, Davos. Looks like you came up here for nothing.” he said with a grin.

“Ah well, not the first mistake I made.” the man shot back with a laugh.

Getting to his feet, Jon wiped off the dirt and mud from himself as best as he could. “I thought I had you with that feint,” he mused, picking up the spear from the ground. “though I suppose that was my mistake.”

She leaned on her spear, raising a slender brow. “Thinking and doing are two different things, Lord Crow.” She smirked at him and Jon felt another flush coming on.

Val was an attractive woman, there was no doubt. Yet she also had the strength – both physical and mental – and a genius wit to back it up. Ever since he had met her, Jon felt himself becoming somewhat enamoured. Yet, his past with women reared its ugly head every time, and he thought back to the nightmares that plagued him.

“So, Ser Onion, tell me.” Val was saying to Davos, “are you more skilled with a spear then Lord Crow here?”

Davos laughed again, holding up the hand missing the first four finger joints. “Not a shred of combat ability, my lady.” he grinned, looking down to the grass. “If you'd like, I'll just lay down for ya right now and you can call it a win.”

Val shook her head. “Oh, no need. I can always get Lord Crow to do that.”

The sky was starting to darken and a gentle orange haze signaled the start of sundown. Jon gestured to the bubbling pots placed at the northern end of camp. “Care for some dinner, you two? Fish stew again, aye – but it's better then starving.”

As the trio walked towards the pots, Davos kept looking around, struck by what he was seeing. “The fact you've done all this in half a year is remarkable, Jon. I mean – I knew the Free Folk were resourceful but nothing like this.”

“We did have help,” Val pointed out, “all of the new Free Folk from the south; they're a smart lot.”

“New free folk, eh?” he chuckled, “Does that make me one too?”

“Course it does.” Jon said as they reached the pots. Each one was the size of a full-grown cow and were constantly bubbling, the smell of fish stew wafting into the air. Bowls and spoons were passed out as they made their way up to the women ladling out the food.

Taking his portion, Jon guided Val and Davos to one of the many logs set up around the pots. Already crowded, they managed to find a spot with some room left; three or four wildlings were already present, and they all eagerly made room for the trio.

“King Crow!” bellowed a large wildling, wrapping an arm around him. “Glad to have ya join us.”

Jon nodded. “Thanks,” he said, eating some of the stew.

Val sat down to his right, pressing herself right up against him as she ate.

Some of the wildlings around them were already chattering and laughing as some others came to sit by the fire. He ignored the chatter, preferring to focus on his stew – so as to avoid the awkward feeling of having Val pressed up against him.

The heat from the fire made Jon aware he was blushing as he stared at Val, who shot him a glance now and then, and he swore that she smirked at him with every stare.

“...an' that's when I shoved his arse in a snowdrift!” bellowed the large man to Jon's left, laughing heartily.

The group continued their chatter, but Jon ate his stew in silence as he found his gaze still drawn to Val. _What is wrong with me?_ He was no love sick boy, but a man who had experienced a great deal of loss and trauma when it came to women.

“There's your wolf, Lord Crow.” Val said, gesturing to behind the large wildling. Ghost bounded over to him, nuzzling his arm.

“Find any game, boy?” he asked, seeing some blood spattered on his mane. Jon ran his hand through Ghost's fur.

“Looks like he did!” snorted the large man, gulping down the last of his stew. “Shame he didn't save us any!”

Across the fire pit, Davos stood up, stretching his legs. “Well, that was delicious but I really should try to find a place to set up my tent.” he said, glancing around the crowded area, “I figure it will take me a bit -”

“Oh no, Davos. You can put your sleeping roll in my room.” Jon said, gesturing to the longhall. The community had insisted that he get the first room and first made-bed built here, and as much as he'd protested, Jon had relented after two weeks of constant nagging.

“Henk?” Jon gestured to one of the others at the fire pit, an older man who'd just finished his food. “Can you show Davos here to my room at the longhall? I'll take our bowls to the river.”

“You sure?” Davos asked, “I don't want to impose on you, lad.”

“None of that.” Jon dismissed his concern with a wave.

Getting to his feet Jon collected the bowls of those around him and started west, making for the river.

“I'll give you a hand, Lord Crow.” said Val as she collected the spoons, following close behind, Ghost keeping up with her.

* * *

“You've been awfully quiet.” noted Val as she finished washing another set of spoons.

Jon looked to her, taking his eyes off the stew-stained bowls he was currently cleaning. “Am I? Sorry, I guess my mind is elsewhere.”

She laughed. “I don't just mean _now_ , Lord Crow. Am I that intimidating, I wonder?”

“Well, you are intimidating, Val – but I've just a lot on my mind these days, I suppose.” he replied, the familiar blush creeping up his cheeks. _Not now, damn it!_

“So, what is it that ails you, hmm? The greatest hero that the free folk have known since Joramun himself, brought low by talking to girls?” She teased, “Ygritte always told me you were odd, and I guess she was right.”

A surge of guilt washed over him as he thought of her; kissed by fire, his first real love – his first real chance at happiness. It was not meant to last, though and he knew it. “I know nothing, Jon Snow.” he mumbled.

Val looked at him with a sympathetic smile. “You still miss her, hm?”

“Every day.” he replied. It was true – even more then Daenerys.

She moved closer to him, her eyes glistening in the night.“I know how it feels, Jon Snow.” she assured him, reaching out and taking one of his hands. “His name was Jarl. One of the fiercest damned raiders I've ever known, but the best man I knew away from the fight.”

Jon nodded, listening to her speak. “What happened to him?”

“Fell to his death climbing the Wall.” she said, her voice now barely above a whisper. “Still, do you know what? We go on – not just for those we lost, but for those who we might know. Both of us knew the risk; Jarl even told me that he would think me a damn fool for not stealing another man worthy of me.”

“For the longest time, I refused. I grieved. I mourned. I never found one that was worthy of me - at least, not until recently.” she said, casting her gaze to the river. “But he was right – we have to keep going. Love those you've lost, Jon – Ygritte, the Dragon Queen – and mourn them. But live – live for them and yourself, too.”

His hand felt hot in her grip, and Jon's heart beat even quicker now. He opened his mouth to speak – but found that Val had her bone knife in hand, blade resting at his throat.

She smiled. “I guess I should live for us both, then. So, consider this one, Lord Crow – you're stolen.”

She pressed herself into him, kissing him with a passion long buried. Jon toppled over onto the earth, pulling her with him.

Val straddled him, putting away her knife. “Now, let's see if you are as skilled as Ygritte said you were.” she smirked.

Behind her, Ghost sat, staring at the pair with his red eyes.

* * *


	6. Chapter 6

Sansa read the scroll once more, her eyes boring into the message as a mixture of anger and frustration began to swell inside her. “These numbers have been confirmed?” she asked, looking around the great hall before her. The various lords and nobles of the North appeared both uncomfortable and unable to respond to her question.

“They have, Your Grace.” said Maester Wolkan, breaking the silence.

Tapping on the armrests of her throne, Sansa exhaled sharply. “I knew that our stores and resources were bad enough, but – this level?” She sounded almost indignant. “What happened to our preparations?”

In truth, she expected the numbers to not be in her favour, but the news was even worse then expected – the severe shortage of resources in the North was enough to begin to make every lord start to worry. She'd ordered the accounting of every bit of grain, every ingot, every log of lumber, anything that provided the North with resource.

“King Robb's war with the South drained most of what we had in our stores,” Robett Glover, Lord of Deepwood Motte, rose to his feet. “in addition to the loss of fighting and able bodied men it means that we have been unable to replenish anything. Whole fields sit rotting because we haven't the men to plant, Your Grace.”

“Women are capable of farming, my lord.” she quipped.

He nodded. “Aye, Your Grace – but even then, it is still not enough.”

It had been six months since the North had become a free kingdom, and Sansa its Queen. She had spent most of that time trying to both placate her banner-men and find ways to rebuild and repair the massive amount of damage done to her lands. “The Iron Bank has offered us generous loans for purchasing what we need.”

“Beg pardon, Your Grace.” Rodrik Ryswell, Lord of the Rills, stood to join Lord Glover. “but the Iron Bank cannot be trusted. I do not say that lightly, but – with one hand they will offer us funding while the other does the same for those who covet the northern throne.”

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Then what, my lord, do you suggest we do? Allow this crisis to continue?”

Murmurs around the hall greeted her question. She knew that her banner-men were scared, rightfully so; the North was always scarce when it came to resources and population, but this time it was much worse. Wars were one thing – but the North had been dragged through so many conflicts in such a short time that it took far more then just one generation.

“I do believe we have a solution, Your Grace.” That was from Lothor Harclay, Lord of Pinesend. A large man, he took three giant steps over to stand next to Lords Glover and Ryswell. “The lands beyond the Wall.”

“What of them?” she asked.

“With the Others destroyed, the lands are thawing – as we all know.” Glover turned to face the rest of the assembled. “What is out there is not just a barren wasteland once inhabited by the dead – but a fertile and lush bounty, untouched for thousands upon thousands of years.”

Chatters of agreement greeted his statement. “Fertile soil unblemished by tilling and planting. Endless lumber that goes on for miles in every direction. Minerals of all type – bronze, tin, iron. A prize, waiting in our very backyard!”

It was something Sansa had not considered. So much time had been spent on trying to solve the problem that sat before her; she'd missed the news of what the northern lands thawing really meant.

“With respect, my lords.” Ser Emmett Manderly, a cousin of Lord Wyman, was next to rise, “but there are still a few problems with that assumption. First, the Wall still stands – mostly – and it belongs to the Night's Watch as it always has. Secondly, there are far more people residing in those lands now then before.”

“The Watch remains at the Shadow Tower, unwilling to reoccupy Castle Black.” dismissed Lord Harclay, “no matter how many new recruits they receive. Cowardly, I say.”

Lord Rodrik's face contorted into a frown. “Aye, Ser Emmett – and that is another problem. All of these caravans passing through our lands! What is more, many of our own people have joined them or created their own, all on their way to join some stupid fantasy. That deprives us of the few able bodies we have left.”

Raising a hand, Sansa silenced the grumblings. “You both raise valid concerns. Yet, what other solutions have we? Our people will be starving, dying of hunger or exposure or thirst while their homes and castles begin to rot.”

“There is only one solution, Your Grace – and we must act now!” Lord Glover grinned. “We must take a garrison to Castle Black and occupy it ourselves. From there, we can first stop these damned caravans from stealing our people. Then, once that is done, we can march into the lands beyond and claim them in your name!”

Many began to applaud and voice their approval, but Sansa's only response was to frown. “Such an action would only anger both the Night's Watch and those who live in those lands.” she pointed out.

“The Watch can complain as they always do, Your Grace.” said Lord Harclay, “and as for those so-called 'free folk' in the lands beyond, they will bend the knee to their rightful Queen or perish as all traitors do.”

“Are we really talking about going to war with the Free Folk?” asked Ser Emmett, sounding aghast. “Word from the south says that thousands have left to settle in those lands – and so far they have not attempted to raid or pillage in our lands again. Under Jon Snow's leadership, they have turned over a new leaf, as it were.”

* * *

Disapproval greeted his statement. “I could care less about what Jon Snow has gotten them to do.” scowled Lord Glover, “as far as I am concerned, a Targaryen bastard has no right to settle or claim any lands here in the North! I would love to see him again so I could shove my sword down his throat!”

“You will mind your tongue, my lord!” Sansa seethed, rising from her chair. “No matter what he may be now, Jon Snow is still my family.”

“With respect, Your Grace – he was supposed to go to the Wall, and yet he went beyond it instead.” he replied, “This makes him a deserter, technically.”

“Not in the eyes of the Watch.” Sansa retorted. She'd already sent ravens to the Shadow Tower asking about Jon – and since he was still beyond the Wall, the Lord Commander had simply said he was considered on an indefinite ranging.

Lord Ryswell stepped forward. “No matter what we all think of Jon Snow, he is not the issue here, Your Grace. There is something else we must consider in regards to this unclaimed land. We know the state of our own stores – and we've heard the stories from the South, too.”

Lord Glover nodded. “Aye, Your Grace. It is a mess – the Iron Islands and Dorne agitating for their independence. The Riverlands still in ruins and half-empty. The Reach has stopped paying taxes to King's Landing and there is word the Westerlands will erupt into open revolt any day now since they do not want to be lead by the Imp.

This bounty will only be unclaimed for a matter of time – before those eyes in the south turn towards it.”

Sansa was afraid of that; she knew that relations between King's Landing and Winterfell were frosty – not between her and Bran, they were as cordial as ever – but the lords who supported Bran were eager to find ways to forcefully return the North to the Six Kingdoms one way or another. Grabbing resources that belonged to the North from underneath her was definitely something she could see them doing.

“We must show the South that we are still strong, Your Grace. If we allow them to take the land we will look weak. That weakness could invite them to actions that would result in the loss of what so many have bled and died for – our freedom.” This was from Lady Gwenneth Umber of Last Hearth, “We cannot ask or plead with the Watch or those in the far north for what is rightfully ours.”

“What say you, Your Grace?” Lord Glover looked expectantly at her, and Sansa knew the future of the North lay in what she would say next.

Sansa sat back down, tapping her fingers on the armrests once more. “Assemble a force, Lord Glover. No more then one hundred men shall do for now. Fly the direwolf over Castle Black and seal the gate.”

_I do what I must for the good of my people._

* * *


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up about something!
> 
> The Crown Legion is an idea I had based on something Joffrey said in the show about creating an army loyal to the crown, not to any one high lord. 
> 
> also, the reason Bran can use the King of the Andals, Rhoynar and First Men title is that there are still First Men houses outside of the North; the Blackwoods and Royces, for example!
> 
> back to Jon next chapter I promise!

“The City Watch has already begun detaining these so-called “Hopeton” preachers, in line with the King's edict. It should help to slow down the exodus, at least.” said Yohn Royce, Master of War, his eyes glancing to the Hand.

Tyrion Lannister nodded. “I doubt it will do much good for very long, but a prudent measure all the same.” He was tired; the burdens of his position weighed heavily upon his already fragile mind. The Six Kingdoms was not in a good way – and it was his job to help fix it.

“Is there anything else?” he asked.

“Good news, my lord Hand.” said Jason Mallister, Master of Ships. The old Riverlord looked excited, if his wrinkled face could show such an emotion. “The Crown Legion ships have been fully prepared and are ready to sail at once.”

“We still must wait for the King's approval.” Tyrion reminded him.

“How long must we wait?” asked Triston Sunderland, Master of Coin. “The state of the realm is dire, my lord. The more we wait, the more the situation...well, turns to shit.”

That much was already clear to Tyrion. He did not need to be reminded. “The situation is already shit, my lord Sunderland. We have barely staved off open revolt in the Westerlands as it is. As for the Iron Islands and Dorne, well I'm afraid they still have not responded to our latest peace overtures.”

“Which is why we must act!” the Sisterman lord shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “The longer we wait, the weaker we look – and the weaker we look, the more daring those regions will be.”

In the six months since his second Handship had begun, Tyrion had barely had a good nights sleep. The King's decision to grant the North it's independence had angered many lords of the realm, but none more so then the Ironborn and the Dornish. Both sides were now said to be gathering their forces and building siege weapons to launch their own bids for freedom.

The Westerlands had not been receptive to his position as Lord of Casterly Rock, either. His banner-men hated him for being a kinslayer and a dwarf, besides that. It was all he could do to stop them from launching an independence bid.

Only the offer to step down once the year was over and appoint Ser Daven Lannister as his replacement mollified them.

As for the Reach, the situation was even more volatile. The vast majority of the houses there had united behind House Hightower in discontinuing taxes to King's Landing in protest of their new Lord Paramount Bronn and his low status. They had also sent a military force to seize Highgarden and prevent him from taking the seat. Of course, their demands were simple – remove Bronn and appoint another as Lord of Highgarden; although the houses couldn't agree on who should have the role, either.

This was all in addition to the shortages of food, of able bodies, lumber, and money.

“Alright. Let us review the plan once again. Lord Jason, if you would.” Tyrion gestured as the man pulled out a large scroll, unfurling it on the table. “A map of the far North, courtesy of the Night's Watch.”

“The best point of landing for us would be here, at the ruins of Hardhome.” said Lord Jason, tapping a wrinkled finger on the map. “The structures are largely intact save for the usual weathering, and the area surrounding the village is believed abandoned.”

Lord Royce looked thoughtful. “It could work. Once our forces land we would need to deploy at once to secure the surroundings before word reached any of the so-called 'communities' there.”

“The bounty in the land is well worth the risk, my lords.” Lord Triston swept a hand across the map, “and it is still unclaimed. It will not be for long, which is why we must deploy the Crown Legion as soon as possible! This may provide us with the means to restore stability to the realm.”

Tyrion knew that. “It is possible that Winterfell will send a force to claim the region first. Sansa is no fool – the North faces dire straits as much as we do.”

“I am fond of Lady Sansa, of course.” said Lord Royce, shaking his head. “but we cannot hold pause for the North to gain those lands first. It is our people who are starving, our people who are angry and we must see to their needs before that of a breakaway region.”

* * *

The door to the chamber opened and a herald stepped through. “All hail His Grace King Bran of the House Stark, First of his Name. King of the Andals, The Rhoynar and the First Men. Lord of the Six Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.”

All assembled bowed their heads as Grand Maester Tarly wheeled the King in, accompanied by Lady Commander Brienne. “My lords.” the King said, taking his place at the head of the table. “I understand you are discussing the plans for the far north.”

“Yes, Your Grace.” Lord Jason gestured to the map, “and we have already prepared the Crown Legion to depart at your command.”

“This will show strength to those who threaten your rule.” Tyrion noted, “and provide a measure of hope to our people.”

Bran folded his hands and stared at the map. “You have my permission, my Hand. Deploy the Crown Legion. Lord Royce, you will have command.”

“Thank you, Your Grace.” he bowed.

“We are not to act in an aggressive manner.” Bran said, his dull eyes gazing to the Vale lord. “towards either Northern forces or free folk. The legion is to defend our holdings but is not to strike first. Am I understood?”

Lord Royce nodded.

Bran smiled. “One more thing, my Hand. You may inform Lord Bronn that I have revoked his position as Lord of Highgarden. He will be granted The Twins as compensation; my uncle and I have already discussed this.”

Tyrion swallowed. It was hard enough to convince Bronn to stay his temper when he was told of his removal as Master of Coin. “I don't expect he will like that, but – yes, Your Grace.”

"He should be thankful that the crown is willing to grant him The Twins, let alone any castle, at all." Bran said, and Tyrion swore he heard a tone of sarcasm behind it. 

“I understand.”

Bran waved his hand and the room began to empty.

* * *


	8. Chapter 8

“So, what happens now?” Jon asked as he pulled his shirt back on. “I mean, between us.”

Val smirked, pulling on her boots. “Well, that depends on you and what you want, Lord Crow.”

“You were right.” he said with a nod. “I mean, about living for those we've lost – and those we have now.” Her words had made so much sense; he could live, truly live without sheltering himself from the ideas of love and companionship while still remembering those who he had lost.

Jon wrapped his arms around Val from behind. “And right now I want to live with you as part of my life – given that you stole me and all.” he said.

“Good answer.” Val said, turning her head to kiss him, “else I'd have to open you from balls to brain.”

He laughed, pulling himself to his feet. Ghost made his way over to him. “I suppose we had an audience.”

Val – now fully dressed – knelt before Ghost and ran a hand through his fur. “Ah, now him I do not mind. He knows when to be silent unlike his master.” She winked at Jon, flashing that mischievous smirk.

The morning sun was starting to rise as the pair made their way toward the main part of town. Jon felt renewed – not simply because of his nightly escapade with the so-named 'wildling princess' – and a genuine sense of freedom washed over him. He was now free to choose; where to live, who to live with and, most importantly, who to love.

He knew he could not spend the rest of his life despairing over Daenerys or Ygritte – even though the former had died at his hands and the latter had been considered his enemy at the time. The burdens of his life had only served to harden him against love – but now that he was free of those burdens, it was starting to allow him to feel again.

“Why is it men always look so befuddled after sex?” Val teased, slapping him on the arm. “Yes, yes, you were as skilled as Ygritte said – time to come down from your high horse, Lord Crow.”

Jon snorted as he looked to her, biting back a grin. “I love watching your toes curl, by the way.”

Val let out an indignant gasp, and blushed. “Ass.”

Jon laughed again as she reached out to swat him. He dodged and jogged ahead, Ghost keeping up behind him – though not for long, as Val tackled him to the ground causing him to start laughing all over again.

“You're lucky you are cute, Jon Snow.” she said, still blushing – though trying not to laugh herself.

She pressed down and kissed him again, even as the community around them began to come to life. As they kissed, Jon heard laughs, hoots and cheers from the men and women around them.

As they got to their feet, Jon saw a good twenty odd people around them, laughing still. “Alright, show is over. Now let us break our fast and get to work!” he said, waving them away.

* * *

“Sept? The fuck is a sexpt?” asked Dim Dalba, looking utterly confused.

Jon snorted. “Think of a godswood for those of us who worship the old gods, but a sept is where the seven gods are worshiped instead.” he explained, still cracking a smile.

The community council was meeting for the morning issues, and one of the men, Gareth, had asked permission to begin work on a sept – since many people from the south had travelled to the far North with Jon, yet still kept their faith in the Seven.

_It was only fair,_ Jon reasoned. _We've our heart trees, they should have a space to worship their gods also._

“Ah.” Dim said with a shrug, “I don't see why not. We're all free folk here!”

“Reese,” Jon asked the steward, “Is there enough material to begin work on a sept?”

Looking up from his parchments, the man nodded. “Aye, there is. We just finished another count last night an' we've got plenty of nails and wood to start, at least.”

“Right. Any objections?” Jon asked. When no one else spoke up, he continued. “Alright, then. All those in favour of starting work on a sept, raise your hand.”

Every hand in the room went up, and Jon nodded. “Right, then. Gareth, you can start whenever.” he smiled to the man, who had a look of relief on his weathered face.

“Gods bless you all! I'll go tell th' lads.” he said, rising to his feet and making his way out of the room.

Hopeton was run by consensus, and so far it had worked well; those who sat on the community council would take votes on issues proposed by folk, and they would either approve or deny accordingly. Anyone could present an issue before the council at any time, no matter how small – from new buildings to the size of tents.

“Right. Is there anything else?” Jon looked to Clement. “Clem, I know you mentioned something about arrows?”

Clement nodded. “Aye, Ser Jon.” He cleared his throat, “been speaking with the fletchers an' they've whittled enough arrows for six-and-ten bows. With permission of the council I'll start trainin' our guard on how best to use them for hunting. That way the guard can help the free folk with the hunt better than we do now.”

“We'd be happy to help train 'em, too.” added Dim.

From beside him, Jon saw Val grin. “Well, you might, Dim. I don't think they would be able to keep pace with me. Not even Lord Crow can handle a spear as well as I.”

“You're not nice.” Jon sighed, to the laughter of those around him.

“Alright, then. All those in favor of starting bow training with the guard and the free folk?” Again, every hand went into the air. “Start right away, Clem. Dim, have the free folk pick out three or four of their best archers and meet Clem by the guard house.”

“I've got a few lads in mind.” Dim said, getting to his feet. He wrapped an arm around Clement as they began to exit the room, “I hope you southerners can keep up!” he japed, causing Clem to laugh.

Jon looked around the table. “Is there anything else?”

Across from him, a woman in southern dress raised her hand. “Aye, Gwen?”

“Just wanted t'update you, Ser Jon. Th' pots are still nice an' full. The spear-wives from Farreach sent us quite a big catch, but it'd be nice to have somethin' else then fish stew, for a change.” Gwen said with a shrug. “Still, the ladies and I are tellin' em to quit their achin' until the crops come in.”

Val nudged Jon in the side. “Wouldn't the crows at the Shadow Tower have some spices or some-such to add to the food? It might help stop the whining.”

“Aye, they would.” Jon smiled, “Gwen, we'll rankle a rider to the Tower within the day.”

“My thanks, Ser Jon.” she smiled as she rose and dropped into a curtsy, leaving quickly thereafter.

Yawning, Jon stretched out his arms into the air. These meetings were short but sometimes repetitive – many issues were usually brought forward, and he was glad today only had a short handful to take up their time.

“Where's Davos?” he asked. Jon hadn't seen the man all morning; that was unusual given that he'd given him free use of his room last night. Was he still asleep?

Reese looked up from his parchments. “The last wagon that come in from the south had his wife and son, I think he said. So, he's probably seeing to them, Ser Jon.”

Jon smiled. That was good – Davos had been away from his family too long. “I'll be in my room if you need me, Reese.”

* * *

Aside from a few blankets next to the chair sitting nearest the window, there was almost no sign that Davos had slept here last night.

Jon's room was a simple affair – aside from the aforementioned chair, he had a pine-finished desk used for reading or drafting letters, a beautifully-made bed of the finest logs and timber(built for him much to his embarrassment) and a small fireplace with a single scorched log.

Still, it was home.

Sitting down on the bed, Jon looked to Val, who stood by the now-closed door. “Are you going to sit down?” he asked.

Putting her spear up against the wall, Val grinned. “Oh? And does the Lord Crow want me to join him on his fancy southern bed? Keep him warm...stoke the fire in his heart?” she teased, taking off her vest and dropping it onto the floor.

“It's more comfortable then those rocks.” he pointed out.

She took a few steps forward, still grinning. “You haven't said no.” she teased, pulling off the shirt underneath.

Jon put his hands on her hips and placed a kiss to her stomach. “Maybe I will not say anything.”

“You don't have to.” Val whispered as she bent down to kiss him, her hands reaching for his breeches.

* * *

The door to Jon's room crashed open with a start as a great bellowing laugh echoed around. Val wrapped her arms around her chest as she got to her feet.

Jon went for Longclaw, but stopped short as he saw Tormund standing in the doorway.

“Well shit my fuckin' pants! Ser Davos told me that the baby crow had himself a woman but Val the fuckin' spear wife?!” he grinned, laughing again.

Val shrugged, arms still wrapped about her chest. “Aside from your interruptions, Tormund – I felt that if you weren't going to steal the baby crow, I would have to do it myself.”

Jon couldn't help but laugh. “Good to have you back, as always. How was your hunt?”

“Fuckin' idiots up there at New Forktop!” he grumbled. “Spent almost two days trackin' a shadowcat...turns out to be a fuckin' goat! Can you believe it?”

Tossing Val her shirt, the wildling sat down next to Jon on the bed. “Got to meet Davos's family. His wife an' son! Cute little boy, he has! You should go an' see him – they're gettin' some food.”

“Since you rudely interrupted me -” Jon began before a knock at the door interrupted him.

A young man wearing the armband signifying him as one of the guard cast his eyes away from the trio, blanching in embarrassment. “Erm, sorry, Ser Jon. But there's some black brothers at the gate askin' for you. They says its urgent.”

* * *


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know in the books ser endrew dies during the fight at the Bridge of Skulls but in the show that didn't happen, so I figured it was OK to mention him here!

The silence in the room was deafening. “Occupying the Wall?” Jon said, utterly bewildered. “You are certain of this? These are not just...false reports or rumours?”

Ser Endrew Tarth nodded. “The Lord Commander received the raven three days ago.” he said, “and has already replied with an official protest to Winterfell in regards to the Queen's actions.”

Sharing a look with all those around the table, Jon felt a palpable sense of dread creeping up his spine. Ser Endrew had served as master of arms at the Shadow Tower for well on thirty years, and Jon knew he was not the type to embellish or lie.

“But why?” asked Clement. “What does th' Queen have to gain from Castle Black?”

Ser Endrew shook his head. “We don't know, to be honest. As I have said, once the Lord Commander received word, he asked me to ride out to Hopeton at once.”

He'd hoped that the problems of the south had been left behind for good. Jon had always loathed the politicking that made up ruling in general, from the smallest castle to the greatest kingdom. What does Sansa hope to accomplish? The Wall was sovereign territory of the Watch since the Long Night; such an action was a direct violation of that sovereignty.

“Could be that the kneelers aren't too fond of all the people coming this far North?” suggested Tormund, “Makes 'em look bad if all your people wanna run the hell away from ya.”

From the door to the room, Marya Seaworth cleared her throat. “It could be, that.” she said with a nod, “There's word of this community as far south as Storm's End. Don't think it would make any of the high lords too happy.” She shared a concerned look with Davos.

Val squeezed Jon's hand under the table. His head was throbbing; apparently, even going this far North to live free was going to be a problem to someone, somewhere. “Whatever the reason, we need to make for Castle Black at once. Find out what is going on – what their motives are.”

“Should also send word to the other communities.” added Dim Dalba. “If the kneelers are movin' against the Wall, how long until they decide to start flooding over it as well?”

“If you do decide to make for Castle Black, Lord Jon – we would like to come with you.” Ser Endrew gestured to the two rangers behind him. “That way, we can have words with whomever commands the garrison.”

“Of course.” Jon nodded. He looked around the room, “If there are no objections myself and Ser Endrew will start for Castle Black at once.”

Val looked at him intently. “You won't be going alone.”

“Aye!” Tormund slammed his hand on the table, “We gotta get to the bottom of whatever the fuck is happenin' before it spills into shit we can't stop!”

“I'm going too.” said Davos, stepping away from his wife. “Whatever is happening you aren't dealing with this alone -”

Jon held up his hand. “No, Davos. Your wife and son just got here. Dale is what, five? I will not deprive him of his father any longer.” He was surprised at how firm and commanding his words were; though he only meant the best for his friend.

“Alright. All in favor of sending word to the other settlements?” Every hand went up. “Dim, you'll handle the arrangements in terms of riders?”

“Aye, Lord Crow.” the wildling said, getting up from his seat.

* * *

Jon got to his feet, making for the door as the others did. He felt as though the breath had been sucked from his lungs. _Why now?_ He thought, taking some appreciative gasps of fresh air once he'd left the long-hall. Taking a seat on the steps, he sighed deeply.

People had followed him here to get away from the games of the high lords; to be their own people, a free people – not bound to serve some faceless noble who sat in a castle. Yet now, the south was already starting to poke its head in.

“I'm sure your sister will listen to you.” Val said, taking a seat next to him. She squeezed his hand again, and Jon was thankful for her presence. “I saw her once when we were at Winterfell. She's a tough lady – lives up to that wolf the Starks put on their flag.”

Jon smiled, taking her hand and kissing it. “I just wish I knew what she was up to.” Sansa was a true master of what she'd called 'the game' – the machinations of said high lords and those under them. Plots and plots and schemes. It was too much for him.

“Jon!” Davos said, tapping him on the shoulder. Beside him stood Marya. “I'm going with ya -”

“No, you aren't.” Jon sighed, getting to his feet. “Lady Marya, we have just met.” he smiled at the middle-aged woman, who had a kind look to her face, “but I have taken up enough of your husband's time; especially keeping him from Dale.”

Marya put a hand on Davos's shoulder. “He does miss his father.” she said, “Maybe Ser Jon is right on this one, Davos. Let someone else be a hero.”

Davos said nothing for a moment. “He's always tryin' to be a fuckin' hero, this one.” he said with a chuckle.

“Where is your son, anyway?” Jon asked. He'd hope to have met Dale by now.

“Oh, one of our caregivers came with us up North.” Marya replied. “She's with him now getting some sleep.”

“Lord Crow is in good hands, Ser Onion.” Val smiled at the couple. “Besides, your woman needs you.”

Davos nodded, sheepishly. “Aye, you're right.” He kissed Marya and wrapped his arm around her. “I should go find Dale. I used to sing to him when he slept as a babe.”

“Go on, Davos.” Jon assured him, “We'll be back in one piece.”

As the Seaworths took their leave, Tormund and Ser Endrew exited the hall. “I'm ready to go when you lovebirds are!” the wildling grinned, patting Jon on the shoulder.

Ser Endrew gestured to his rangers. “We'll prepare our horses. Will it take you long?”

“A few minutes, maybe.” Jon replied, gesturing to the half-built stables and pen where a dozen or so horses stood about grazing. “Probably best if we take a wagon, though. Can store the supplies we need easier.”

“Agreed.” he nodded. “We will meet you by the gate, then.” With that, the rangers set off towards their tied up mounts.

“When we're done settlin' this shit with the Queen Wolf, I want to hear allll about you two!” Tormund grinned, wrapping his arms around both Jon and Val. “My little baby crow is growing up! It brings a tear to a free man's eye.”

Both him and Val spoke at once. “Shut up, Tormund!”

* * *

The view from atop the Wall was a breathtaking one, Robett Glover had to admit. He'd never been up here before – he had no need to travel to Castle Black – but after seeing it for the first time he understood why so many people spoke well of it.

Still, he was not here for sightseeing. His mission was to garrison Castle Black to prepare for the push into the far North, and that is what he was going to do. Stepping away from the edge, Glover gestured to one of the guards. “Unfurl the banners.” he commanded, making for the lift down.

After it touched down in the courtyard, he was happy to see that the front gate had been closed. The wagons were still being unloaded and the grooms were attending the horses, but so far their arrival had been unchallenged by anyone.

Over by the gatehouse he found Lord Harclay. He was not happy to have to share command of the host, but it was by the Queen's command. “The men are at work building the barricades now.” he nodded, “I've given the order to unfurl the banners at the top.”

“Aye, I've posted archers here to warn off any more wagons.” the big man replied.

Glover scoffed. “The fools will turn back when they see movement here.”

“Don't discount how reckless some folk are, Lord Glover.” Harclay shrugged. “I've seen grown men charge a fully armed southern knight with nothing but a pitchfork.”

“Beg pardon, m'lords.” a guard bowed as he stood before them. “We've unpacked the ravens in the rookery as ordered.”

Glover nodded. “Good. I'll draw up a letter to Winterfell asking the Queen for our next instructions. Harclay, can you handle things here?”

Without waiting for a reply, Lord Robett went with the guard towards the rookery. He was confident; why shouldn't he be? Soon, the so-called 'far north' would be in the hands of its rightful Queen and they could get to work saving their hard-won kingdom from chaos.

As for the wildlings and those southern fools who followed Jon Snow's fantasy – they would either bend the knee or...well, there was plenty of fresh dirt to dig graves this far north.

* * *


	10. Chapter 10

Jon looked through the spyglass towards the Wall. Hanging off the great seven-hundred foot structure was a pair of great banners. One was the grey direwolf of House Stark, flying proudly on its white background.

Kneeling down Jon gave Ghost a scratching behind his ears. The wolf licked his face affectionately in reply; he swore the wolf was growing even faster now that they had traveled beyond the Wall. Ghost now came up to Jon's waist.

Going back to the spyglass, Jon looked to the other banner. It was a direwolf as well – but colored red.

Exhaling sharply, he turned back towards Whitetree, the settlement just a few paces away. It had only taken his party four days to reach it from Hopeton, and they'd been given a warm welcome from Torreg, the chieftain. Even Ser Endrew was treated as a friend – a growing sign of the respect some of the free folk had for the Night's Watch now that they were allies.

“Stark banners.” he told the group once they'd gathered in the chieftain's hut, “the red one is Sansa's personal standard.” She had taken a red wolf as her standard owing to her red hair – though Jon had also suspected it had to do with the experiences she'd endured to the south as well.

“You sure there haven't been any kneelers coming here?” Tormund asked Torreg.

“The fuck would I lie for?” he replied with a shrug. “We saw 'em setting up while out hunting. Didn't get too close else they try to use us for target practice.”

Jon handed the spyglass back to Ser Endrew. “Good call, Torreg.” he said, “the less we provoke them the better. At least until we find out why they are here.”

“Did you see how many were at the gate?” the ranger asked.

“At least twenty. They were digging trenches and had some barricades set up, it looked like.” Jon replied.

Val leaned on her spear. “Only way to find out is to go ask 'em.”

Torreg looked over to Jon. “We've had those guards you sent us on watch since we spotted 'em. Been a big help, they have.” He raised his drinking horn to him and took a sip.

The council had sent some of the newly-trained Hopeton guards to the new communities once they were finished their training; volunteers who had agreed to help protect the smaller settlements from any threat, be the animal or man.

Jon turned around, staring back through the trees towards the Wall. “We should start for the gate soon.”

“Nay, wait until tomorrow.” Torreg offered, “You an' your crows can stay here the night. We've got plenty o' new huts built as ya can see!”

Whitetree had expanded since Jon had last been here; a crude sort of wall had gone up around the village, constructed of sharpened stakes, and at least four new huts had been built in addition to the dozen or so tents that were strewn about.

Ser Endrew stepped forward. “I believe Torreg is correct, Lord Jon.” he offered, “we could use the rest before tomorrow. Even with the snows melted and the land green, it was a hard ride from Hopeton for us all.”

Tormund let out a belch. “Aye! Could use a nice long sleep meself.”

It was true; Jon felt the soreness all over his body also, despite how he tried to will it away. A good night's rest would do him some good – clear the mind so as to be able to speak plain to whoever commanded the new Castle Black garrison. “Alright, then.” he agreed, “we rest here tonight and make for the Wall in the morning.”

* * *

The hut that Torreg had given Jon was small but cozy; the crackling of the fire helped to relax him as he settled into his sleeping furs. Outside, Whitetree was all quiet; the only thing he could see through the flap was the torches from the pair of guards unlucky enough to draw night watch.

“What if it all goes wrong tomorrow?” Val asked as she settled in next to him. “Some kneelers still think poorly of us after all.”

Jon wrapped his arm around her. “The men I saw manning the barricades are Stark men. Most of them probably know me from my tenure as King.” he assured her, “even if I did do a shit job at it.”

Val chuckled. “I don't know, Lord Crow – you did not do that bad. 'twas thanks to you we are able to have this talk now.” she said.

“That was Arya who killed the Night King, not me.” Jon pointed out. The less people thought of him as a hero, the better he felt. He was just Jon, now – no lofty titles or great kingdoms demanding his attention.

“Aye, 'twas your sister who did the killing.” Val conceded, “but it was thanks to you gathering so many allies that she was able to do said killing. Plus those dragons – gods, they were a sight to remember.”

_The dragons were a sight to remember_ , Jon thought. Though, the sights were much different when one was _against_ the creatures – as he had been in the throne room at the Red Keep. He had been ready to meet death at Drogon's maw that day.

Jon pulled Val against him, her arm wrapping around his back. “You know, they say I have the blood of the dragon.” he teased, kissing her gently, “so in some way, you are riding a dragon.”

Val rolled her eyes playfully. “That was a terrible attempt at wooing, Lord Crow. It's a good thing you are already mine.” she grinned, kissing him back.

Since he had been with Val, Jon had noticed the nightmares were starting to lessen. His mind was taking the first steps in putting his past behind him – though of course it would always be in his mind somewhere, it would at least allow him to do more then wallow in the choices he had been forced to make.

“We should get some sleep.” he said, wriggling around on the furs.

“I thought that's what we were doing.” she teased, resting her head on his chest.

* * *

“Take a seat.” Lord Glover said, gesturing to the two chairs in front of him. Jon looked to Ser Endrew, who reacted to his gaze with a nod.

Sitting down, Jon looked around the Lord Commander's chamber with a nostalgic sense of regret. The memories this place brought out in him were many, and not all of them were good ones of course. It was here in Castle Black where he'd died, after all – and despite how he tried to put the past behind him, was something that clung to him like a bad smell.

How could it not? Who else could say they were brought back from the beyond as he had been?

Thankfully, getting into Castle Black was easy enough. Ser Endrew's status as a black brother had allowed them to be waved through the blockade into the courtyard. From there, Lord Glover indicated he would only speak with him and Jon, no one else.

So it was that Jon was here now. He was none too pleased to learn that Robett Glover was the commander of the garrison here; he had a low opinion of the man for a myriad of reasons.

“As you know, Lord Glover, I am here representing the Night's Watch on a mission to find out your reasons for violating the rights and sovereignty of our order by occupying Castle Black.” Ser Endrew said, his tone neutral but firm.

Glover looked up from a mess of parchments and folded his hands together. “I have nothing but respect for the brothers of the Night's Watch and their mission, Ser Endrew. However, the Queen's edict is why I am here now. Your Lord-Commander made mention that Castle Black would be left unmanned for at least a year.”

Ser Endrew nodded. “Even still, that hardly warrants an occupation. There are seventeen castles along the Wall, all but one are now unmanned.”

“You must understand, Ser Endrew.” Glover said, his gaze trained entirely upon the black brother, “that the North has faced a crisis that we have had to take quick action to solve. I speak of the myriad of wagons and caravans travelling from the south to lands beyond the Wall. As a result of these travellers, we have seen an increase in banditry, theft and overall lawlessness across our kingdom, in addition to many of our own people abandoning their homes to follow a fool and his fantasy.” It was only then that the lord shot his gaze toward Jon.

Jon bristled in his seat. “So, why have you not closed the tunnel?” he asked. “If you are meaning to stop these wagons, that is. You've already shut the gate leading into Castle Black, so finish the job.”

“The decision was made by the Queen.” Glover replied, though Jon could see the question had agitated him. “I do not question her edicts.”

“Ser Jon does raise a valid point, my lord.” Ser Endrew noted, raising a brow suspiciously.

It was almost amusing for Jon to watch Lord Glover slam his fists into the table. _If we weren't outnumbered a hundred to one_ , he thought, _it would be_. “The situation here is far more complex then you realize! That is all I can say to you on this.” he growled, “now, if you wish to travel south to speak with the Queen, I will open the gate for your party. Otherwise, you are free to scurry back north to your fool's fantasy.”

* * *

“He is definitely hiding something.” Jon mused as he and Ser Endrew walked back towards the courtyard, “though I only wish we could figure out what.”

The black brother had a pensive expression on his face. He almost looked troubled. “I do have a theory as to what is going on here, but...I do not wish to say it lest I cause alarm.” he finally said, dropping his voice to a whisper.

Jon paused. “You know I will speak of nothing we say, Ser.” he assured him, “and if you do have any thoughts, I would welcome them.”

Looking around a moment, he leaned in closer to Jon so that the two men were almost touching foreheads. “The lands beyond the Wall have always been a frozen wasteland, since the days of the Long Night. Now, with the Others gone they are thriving – and what do they have there?”

“What do you mean?” Jon asked.

“I mean what kind of things do you enjoy beyond the Wall?”

Jon paused to think. “We have food. Water, lumber. The basics, of course.” He was still confused as to what Ser Endrew was getting at.

“And who controls the lands? What kingdom or Queen?”

Realization hit Jon as though he had just been smashed with a shield. “This isn't about caravans of people.” he whispered, “Winterfell...Sansa...she's going to claim the lands for the North.”

“A bountiful and rich land with ample resources and no central sovereign.” Ser Endrew nodded, his expression grave. “A kingdom that is suffering from shortages of food and resources now has an untamed and unclaimed paradise just due north.”

Jon put a hand over his mouth. “But...what about the people who live there? Hopeton? The other settlements?”

“What do the high lords ask of all folk under their 'benevolent' hand?”

“Bend the knee.” He felt his vision swim, and he heard Daenerys's words echoing in his head once more. This was worse then anything Jon had thought possible – it could very well lead to war between Hopeton and Winterfell.

The people would not kneel. They were free folk now, coming north to escape the games of the south. If those games were coming to them...

“We need to warn the communities. And fast.”

* * *


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just a heads up i might take a bit longer to write the next coming chapters, a combination of nerve damage in my hands and writers block. but rest assured I will write it!!

“We do not have any proof, but...it is the only thing that makes sense.” Jon said with a deep sigh, “The North means to try and make us bend the knee.”

Torreg shook his head. “Damn kneelers.” he spat into the firepit of his hut.

“We gotta call a meeting of the communities.” Tormund said, pacing around the hut. “Dunno how we'll win a war against th' south, though.”

Jon was quick to respond to that. “We are not going to war with anyone!” Tormund's point was valid, though – if there was any kind of conflict between the two communities, the free folk would lose completely. Bronze and stone weapons versus castle forged steel..

The thought made him shudder. “I...we need to find a solution to this without trying to fight. We would only cause more suffering for our people.” He looked to Val, walking over towards her and she rested her hand on his; the touch helped him to steady himself.

“Jon's right,” Val pointed out as he squeezed her hand in response. “We've got to find a way to sort this out peacefully. Well, as peacefully as we can.”

“We must return to the Shadow Tower and inform the Lord Commander.” Ser Endrew said, looking to the two rangers who'd accompanied him. “If you wish, we'll stop at Hopeflower Keep, Gorol's and New Thenn on our way back and give them the news.”

“Tell them to send a representative to Hopeton.” Jon added. “We will need to decide our next actions as one.” It was imperative that the other settlements come up with a unified plan in regards to this – and if a peaceful solution was to be found, everyone would need to be behind it, from the Thenns to the ice river clans of New Forktop.

“Do ya think you should try for Winterfell?” asked Tormund. “I mean, Queen Wolf might still listen to ya.”

Jon shook his head. “I doubt Sansa will stand down – she's acting for the people of the North.” He understood that this was a difficult situation for her; the North had suffered a great deal in terms of losing what few resources and manpower it had from two great conflicts in less then five years. The glory days of the North under Lord Eddard were a distant memory; what remained was a land struggling to survive.

Still, this was his family. He'd grown up with Sansa – even if she had favored Lady Catelyn and taken to shunning 'the bastard', she and him had endured many trials together. _We took back the North together,_ he thought to a simpler time after Ramsay Bolton's death.

Even with the hurt he'd felt from her decision to spread the word about his identity, it did not make him feel any more at ease to consider having to go to battle with men he had once lead, let alone against men now lead by Sansa.

“We should start for Hopeton as soon as possible.” he finally said, after what felt like an eternity. “Torreg, are you going to send a representative to speak for Whitetree?”

The chieftain got to his feet and shook his head. “Nay, I will ride with ya, Lord Crow.” he said proudly, “My sons will handle things here until I get back. Give me a few moments t'say goodbye and I'll hitch a ride with yer wagon.”

* * *

As the chatter died down, Jon made his way from the hut and into the evening air. The sun was almost below the clouds, the orange glow fading from the world as night fell.

Taking a seat next to the hut, he ran his hand through Ghost's fur after the wolf came to rest beside him.

He stared at Jon, his red eyes unblinking. “I'm glad you are here, boy.” he whispered softly. To think, he had been the runt of the litter when he, Robb, Bran and Theon had found them so long ago. The thought of that day brought a tear to his eye. Robb and Theon, both dead and gone. And Bran – well, whatever was left of him was a being aged a thousand years, flat and emotionless.

“You ok?” Val asked as she joined him on the ground, reaching out to pet Ghost. He liked Val, and it showed as he licked her hand in response.

Jon sighed, looking up to the Wall. “Not really. We came north to escape all this rubbish. The people who followed me here believed in me – even when I didn't really believe in myself.” He had come north as part of his exile, of course; yet he'd not seen it as an exile, but more of a liberation.

“Listen to me.” Val's words drew Jon's gaze. “You've done nothing wrong. I promise you. This is all southern rubbish, Jon. We get that. The kneelers are desperate for resources and this is the only place they think they can claim.” She ran a hand across his cheek. “I believe in you. We all still believe in you.”

Her touch was soothing. “Sansa is my family. No matter what we've gone through.”

She nodded, brushing her lips against his. The sensation was electric and Jon sighed wistfully. “I know. But we'll figure out a peaceful solution together.”

“You two lovebirds done?!” shouted Tormund from somewhere to the north. “Got the wagon ready an' Torreg is here. Just waitin' on you!”

* * *

The sight of Stark banners flying on the Wall was disconcerting for Lord Royce. Letting out a loud sigh, he handed the spyglass back to the scout. “It would appear Winterfell was able to establish a presence faster then we.”

It was to be expected, of course – Winterfell was much closer than King's Landing or Gulltown to Castle Black. All the same, the Crown Legion now held the ruins of Hardhome; the lands beyond the Wall rather than the Wall itself. If Queen Sansa wanted the Wall, she could have it.

“We still have the advantage,” he said, turning to walk back into the ruin. The buildings were rotting and debris littered the site of the former wildling village, but the legion had done a superb job setting up fortification and tents within record time. The best indeed, he thought.

“How so, my lord?” asked Lady-Commander Brienne. The woman wore a pensive expression as she followed at his side.

Royce gestured back to the Wall.” Queen Sansa holds the Wall and garrisons Castle Black only. We have established a foothold beyond the Wall itself.” he smiled, “in any circumstance, we have made the first claim in the name of the King.”

A sense of unease still permeated the ruins, however. Royce found himself glancing over his shoulder more then not. _Primitive superstition_ , he thought.

“We must tread carefully, my lord.” the Kingsguard commander replied, looking back to the Wall. “If Stark forces attempt to expand their holdings they may come to notice our presence here.” It was somewhat odd that the King had sent Lady Brienne to guard him as a member of the small council – and it was ever-annoying that he had to endure the woman's caution.

“I do not wish to fight them.” Royce said truthfully. He had nothing but respect for the Lady Sansa and her strength; dealing with that worm Baelish had only increased his confidence in her. “however, the Six Kingdoms needs this land, and we cannot allow our...personal pasts with Winterfell to stop us from claiming it.”

Brienne nodded. “I am of the Kingsguard, my lord. The King commanded me to travel with you and protect you as a member of the small council. Despite my personal connections to Queen Sansa, I serve King Bran first and foremost.”

“I did not mean to cast doubt upon you, my lady. I have no question of your loyalty.” Royce replied; while her constant warnings were an annoyance, he knew Brienne of Tarth to be a strong and capable warrior, in addition to a loyal knight.

Looking to the sky, Royce sighed. This was only the first step necessary to save the Six Kingdoms from chaos, and the months ahead would be incredibly difficult. Yet he was Lord of Runestone and Master of War – he would see things through until the very end.

He had to.

* * *


End file.
